


You Scratch Mine...I'll Scratch Yours

by Icecat62



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:25:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2291828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icecat62/pseuds/Icecat62
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meg takes care of Fraser's cramp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Scratch Mine...I'll Scratch Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Published on RedSuitsYou - 10/08/1999.
> 
> A sequel to "The Game's A Foot".
> 
> This is part of the Icecat Challenge on RedSuitsYou@onelist.com. Where I was challenged by fellow listers to write a Due Smut fic using anything they wanted. You'd be surprised what can be sexualized.

The moment Turnbull had closed the door and walked away Meg Thatcher's mental processes kicked in. Now that her wonderfully talented Constable had taken care of her 'itch' she felt it would only be fair to scratch his. Turning her chair slowly around, she found her face at crotch level to Fraser's body. She could see Fraser's erection straining through the jophers. Apparently he had found the whole experience of scratching her 'itch' a stimulating one. A smile slowly spread across her face.

"Constable Fraser, I would like to thank you for solving the problem of my itching." 

"You're very welcome Sir."

"But I believe that we have a problem."

"Sir?"

"You appear to be itchy yourself."

"No Sir, I don't actually have an itch. I would classify this as...a cramp."

"Ah. I see. Well then there is only one course of action to be taken."

"And what would that be Sir?"

"The only remedy that I know for a cramp would be for me to message it out for you."

A smile quirked at Fraser's lips. "You want to message my...cramp?"

"Oh yes! I mean yes it would only be fair. After all, you did help me with my itch." Thatcher smiled up at Fraser and reached her hands out, but she quickly stopped. "Um...do I have your permission to message you Fraser?"

"Yes Sir. You have my permission to alleviate my cramp."

Thatcher choked back a snicker as she reached out again. This time her hands didn't hesitate as they quickly unbuttoned and unzipped Fraser's jophers.

Just as she was about to reach her hand in and explore Fraser's southern territories she was stopped by him. "I'm sorry to interrupt Sir, but maybe we should lock the door? You did tell me to remember. I don't think we could properly explain this form of cramp relief to Constable Turnbull."

Her eyes opened wide. "Yes, I think that's wise." Standing up she walked over to the large wooden doors and locked them. Turning back to look at Fraser, she smiled again.

Never in her wildest fantasies (and she had to admit to herself that she had some pretty wild fantasies involving Fraser) had she ever pictured herself getting scratched by Fraser, in her office. It had always seemed so...sterile. She really did hate her office. It was so...American. But seeing one of Canada's finest standing behind her desk, with a part of his anatomy at full attention, straining to be released. Her office definitely had a Canadian flavor to it now. *Hum. I wonder what this Canadian tastes like?*

She slowly walked back to her desk, watching Fraser's reaction to her approach. He had the ghost of a smile on his lips and a trace of amusement in his eyes. Beautiful eyes that never wavered as they stared into hers. "The door has been secured. May I continue?"

This time Fraser actually smiled at her. A real smile with those cute little dimples of his showing. "Please do. My cramp is getting rather painful now."

"I'm so sorry. I wouldn't want you to be in pain any longer."

She sat back in her chair and reached into Fraser's jophers. Pressing her hand against him, she tried to judge the size of his anatomy. Sometimes being with a man was like a card game. You could think that the hand your opponent held was a rather good one by all of their bluffs, but when they placed their cards on the table for you to see, you would find yourself disappointed. As she gently caressed him, she was pleased to find that Fraser was holding a full house. Reaching into his boxers she was rewarded with a gentle sigh from him.

"Is this helping your cramp Fraser?" She looked up at him and bit her lip.

His face was one of deep concentration, but he was also smiling back at her. "Yes it is helping, but at the same time it is making my cramp...tighter."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me get a better grip on it. That may help." Releasing him, she pulled his jophers down to his knees. The sight before her could have been almost comical. Fraser was standing in front of her. Behind her desk, in her office, wearing his red serge, Sam Browne and his jophers were down around his knees, resting at the top of his boots. And his 'cramp' was standing out proudly. *God, this would make a nice recruit poster.*

But as she stared at him, she found herself not wanting to laugh, but rather the opposite. All she wanted to do was touch him. To feel the hardness of him in her hand. To touch that silky heat. And knowing that she now could...with his permission...it made all of those fantasies fade away. Grasping him once more she began to slowly twist her hand around his length. Using her other hand, she cupped his balls and slowly kneaded them. Her reward was a low, throaty moan from Fraser.

The more she touched him, the more she wanted him. "Fraser...I think that my itch may be coming back. Do you think that you could scratch it again? I mean, you could get rid of your cramp...by scratching my itch."

Looking up at his face again she saw the surprise in his eyes. "You want me to...scratch your itch...to alleviate my cramp?"

With a tentative smile she answered him. "Yes." *I hope I haven't pushed this too far. Maybe he's not ready for this. Maybe I should stop.*

She felt Fraser push her hands away from him. A pang of disappointment ran through her. *Damn! I knew I went too far!* Before she could open her mouth to apologize, she found herself laying on her desk. The mounds of paperwork crinkling beneath her. Fraser was leaning over her smiling. "I find that option acceptable Sir." 

Thatcher felt herself smiling back at Fraser.

"Excuse me, Sir? But do you have any...well...I was not prepared for this type of cramp...at work...and..."

Thatcher's smile grew wider. Fraser was blushing as he talked. He wasn't actually talking, he was stammering. He was asking her if she had any type of protection with her. And he looked so cute and innocent while he was doing it. "In my right bottom drawer, in my purse."

"Thank you kindly."

Thatcher blinked in surprise. He didn't find it unusual that she kept something with her. She watched him pull her purse out, he opened it, hesitated and then shyly handed the purse to her. "I can't go through your personal belonging."

Taking the purse from him she produced a Lucky13. Handing the condom over to Fraser, she was again surprised to see him open the foil coin and roll the condom on with no hesitation. It was as if he had done this type of thing before. He knew what he was doing.

"Excuse me, Fraser."

He looked at her questioningly. "Yes?"

"You seem to be an expert at that. Do you do this often?"

He again turned a bright red and tucked his head down. "No Sir, I don't. It's...well...I have practiced...this."

"You practiced putting a condom on!"

"Yes Sir." Even though his face was as red as his serge he looked her in the eyes. "I felt that I should be prepared if something of this nature ever occurred. After all...I am a Mountie."

Grinning up at him, Thatcher grabbed Fraser by the Sam Browne and pulled him down to her, kissing him deeply. Without breaking the kiss, she felt and heard (his boots made rather loud noises as they clunked against the wooden desk) him climb up on the desk. Straddling her, she felt his hand make a trail down her body. Pausing occasionally to touch her or rub her. And finally his hand settled between her legs, where he caressed her gently. Reaching between them, Thatcher grasped him and caressed him as well.

They had never released themselves from their kiss. Just like the kiss they shared on the train, it was a long, deeply passionate kiss. The type that suspended time. Each touch of their tongues sent shivers through their bodies. Two bodies that were aching in their need for each other. Just when Thatcher was about to break their kiss, to suggest to Fraser that he should do something about her ache, he apparently had been thinking the same thing.

She felt him settle between her legs and ever so gently he entered her. The kiss, became more intense as he slowly thrust against her. Their bodies rubbed against one another. The wool serge itched the crap out of her legs as she wrapped them around his waist, but she didn't care. The hell with the itching! Her aching need for Fraser was finally being satisfied. Then he began to thrust harder against her. She could feel the papers cutting into her delicate flesh, but she didn't care about this either.

When they broke the kiss apart they stared into each others eyes. His hands locked themselves beneath her as he roughly pulled her body to his. She dug her fingers into the thick wool of his serge and yanked him to her, biting at his lower lip, and then she bit his neck and sucked at the tender flesh of his throat. She wanted to devour him, her hunger for him was so great. Thatcher felt the heat rising in the center of her. The rush of desire began to fill her very core. With a keening wail she screamed out her release.

Fraser thrust against her once more, almost pushing the two of them off of the desk. The papers causing them to slide forward, and with a loud moan, she felt his body stiffen and jerk against hers. His hands had gripped the material of her dress and she could here it tearing as he yanked it when he came. Their ragged breathing echoed in the large empty room. The sweat from their bodies and the heat from their contact surrounded them.

Fraser lifted his head from where he had tucked it against her shoulder. A chagrined smile appeared. "I am sorry...I almost...pushed us off the desk."

"Oh I don't mind. I...think that this...was the best that my desk has ever looked."

Fraser leaned down and tenderly kissed Thatcher. "And I believe that I have never seen...a form as perfect as yours...on this desk."

They remained locked together on the desk top. Neither one of them wanted to end their 'contact', but Thatcher knew that they needed to.

"Fraser...Ben...I think we should try and put ourselves back together."

He nodded slowly. "Yes I agree. It seems that we are together already, but I understand what you are implying." But he didn't move. He leaned down again and kissed her. A slow soul searching kiss.

Thatcher broke it off. "Maybe we could continue this...form of message this evening. At my apartment. I'm not sure if my itch has been cured."

"Yes, that would be acceptable. I think the chances of my having another cramp would be highly probable."

They slowly released their hold on one another. Thatcher let out a sigh of disappointment as she felt Fraser slide his body from her. As they both put their clothing back into place Thatcher laughed as she looked at her desk. "I've never let my paperwork get this way before." She gingerly rubbed at her backside. "And I think that I am paying for it."

Fraser's eyes and voice showed his concern. "I didn't...hurt you did I?"

She smiled back him. "No, you didn't hurt me. I think I have several nasty paper cuts."

Her comment caused him to smile. "I could check them out for you, if you would like."

She backed away and laughed. "No. I think you had better wait until this evening." 

"Yes Sir. Do you need me for anything else?"

Looking at her desk she shook her head. "No...the papers that I needed you to sign are buried in there somewhere. When I find them I'll call you back in." She smiled at him again. "Dismissed Constable."

Fraser smiled back at her and left the office.

As Thatcher began sorting through her papers, she tried to think of what type of ailment she could have Fraser take care of this evening after dinner.

END


End file.
